


Private Show

by moimiles



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: College AU, Confident Yuuri, M/M, Slow Burn, Stripper!AU, Stripper!Yuuri, cannon verse (ish), cannon!victor, eros mode, rated Mature for stripping lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moimiles/pseuds/moimiles
Summary: Chris had dragged Victor to an insane amount of strip clubs over the years, but that didn't mean Victor expected to fall in love with a stripper.





	1. Get you hooked with just one taste

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Victor!" Chris threw his hands up in frustration.

"You and I have very different concepts of what 'once in a lifetime' entails, Chris," Victor mumbled. "Gucci sales and, I don’t know, flying a private plane are once in a lifetime opportunities. Going to male strip club... That's just a Wednesday for you."

"For me, yeah, maybe," Chris shrugged. "But for you? It might be the only time you'll _ever_ be able to go to the Sculpted Greeks."

"Do you hear yourself when you speak, or were you born without that ability?" Victor sighed. "Sculpted Greeks?! Look, Chris, I'm exhausted, okay? I just want to eat something and crash."

"You are _always_ exhausted. You're getting old, Nikiforov."

"Low blow!" Victor yelled at Chris.

Age was a sensitive topic for Victor. Yes, he was 26, and for a figure skater that was old. Even for him, having won the Grand Prix Final four times, and being a strong competitor for the fifth win... He had to start making some decisions.

Chris knew all that, of course. They had been friends for a while now, and every time they competed somewhere together, Chris always tried to get him to do something stupid with the weirdest excuses. He learned the hard way that "a great buffet" was code for strip club.

"Can you promise me that this is the last time I’ll step foot in a strip club?” Victor rubbed his temples, feeling the migraine he’d have soon.

“Fine,” Chris dragged out the word dramatically, “I promise _I_ won’t take you to any more strip clubs. But if you like this place, you’re going to _all_ strip clubs with me.”

“Deal,” Victor managed to smile a little. If this place was anything like all other strip joints Chris had taken him before, Victor was in it for a lifetime without naked dudes and 80’s rock.

“You’re going to love this one! It’s extremely elegant. Posh.”

“Oh no,” that older skater sighed, “that last time you said a place was ‘posh’ I found glitter in my hair for like five days.”

“Five days is a lie. We all know glitter never leaves; I _still_ find gold glitter in my bed, and it’s been a whole year. The goddamn herpes of make-up,” he sighed.

“You know, going to a strip club might make us get something worse than _make-up_ herpes…”

“You’re not getting out of this one, Nikiforov. I appreciate your trying, I like a challenge,” Chris winked, clearly amused with the situation. Victor felt that five years had been taken from his lifespan just by having that conversation; that was why he felt so _old._ Christophe was eating away his life.

Victor couldn’t believe that he was getting dressed after a tough day of skating to go to a freaking strip club. He wasn’t 18 anymore; abs and assess were just body parts, not a sexy mystery he had yet to discover. He felt like the joyful kid in him has been getting lost over the years of serious competitions and harsh training. He was physically getting old, but his mind was also aging – and much faster.

Victor missed surprising people.

He missed his heart bursting after every succesful quad. He missed the trembling of his hands as he was waiting for his scores. He missed the sheer euphoria of creating new choreography. And overall, he missed surprising himself.

Lately skating was a job. He trained, skated, and perfected his routines because it was what he did for a living. Of course, he still loved it, but there was something missing. Inspiration, perhaps; a reason to get on ice.

“Let’s go, Victor!” Chris barged into the room unannounced.

“Chris, there’s a reason doors exist. Privacy. Knocking. Have you ever heard those two words before?” Victor rolled his eyes.

“They don’t exist in French.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Can’t we just... Go to the strip club?”

“Careful Victor, you get any grumpier and your hair will turn gray. Oh, wait!”

“Why am I friends with you again? I always forget.”

“Because I’m paying for our ride?”

“To a strip club I don’t want to go.”

“We’re friends because without me you’d be in your hotel room, covered in dust and spider webs.”

“My scores today were higher than yours by a landslide, but sure, if dust and spider webs make you feel better...” Victor couldn’t help but tease back.

They took a cab to the strip club. Chris stayed true to his word and paid for their ride. It was dark outside when they left, yet it was just starting to get cold outside – nothing they couldn’t handle. Victor was old enough to have learned to take a coat with him wherever he went.

The strip club didn’t look like a strip joint from the outside. Victor thought they had the wrong address when the car pulled over, but Chris got out with a mischievous smile on his lips, so Victor assumed it was the right place.

The place was painted black from the roof down to the floors; the only indication it was open to the public was the bouncer by the door. There was a neon sign by the entrance, glowing pink against the black walls - Victor assumed it said the number of the establishment, considering the bar next door was numbered 58 and the neon sign said 60, in Roman numerals.

It was considerably better than Victor expected. The bouncer asked them for their IDs and gave each of them a card – he said they’d register their bar drinks on the cards and pay on their way out.

So far, it just looked like a regular night club. Victor thought that maybe his luck was working in his favor; perhaps Chris decided he didn’t want to watch naked men dancing to Cherry Pie for three hours. Maybe they were at a really cool, alternative bar.

He realized he was at actual strip club when he saw the stripper on stage. It was pretty clear it wasn’t a nightclub – the leather-seat booths and tables were all turned towards the stage. The lights were dim and slightly tinted pink, making everything look a little surreal.

The smell was what caught Victor’s attention. The strip clubs Chris took him usually reeked of cigarettes and bad decisions. The Sculpted Greeks (God, what a _horrible_ name) smelled softly of Cuban cigars and something musky Victor couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was good; better than usual, so Victor didn’t feel like running out that exact second.

Chris, of course, picked a booth closer to the stage. The music wasn’t deafeningly loud, but Victor just prayed he didn’t have to listen to ‘Cherry Pie’ by Warrant _yet again_. What was so sexy about 80’s rock? So far, The Sculpted Greeks was playing current pop songs; all of them had a slower, actually sexy beat to it. The stripper was performing to a song that sounded a lot like Rihanna, but Victor wasn’t a hundred percent sure. He was more of a Beyoncé man himself.

Considering that the brunette man on stage was not dressed as a cop or a cowboy, Victor half agreed that the place was classy. The performance was quite complicated; he suspected the stripper had some background in dance. It was a nice change from the repetitive thrusting-and-teasing routine from most other clubs.

“There’s choreography,” Victor blurted as his beer arrived. Chris had ordered some fancy drink; it had three layers in three different colors. It came with a swirly straw and an umbrella, so it was quite fitting for the ridiculously extra skater.

“I know.”

“And he’s not naked.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? I’d love to see under that-oh. _Oh_. Thong. Nice,” Chris paused as the brunette tore his pants off.

Victor had to agree: _nice_.

“I have to admit, it is a nice change from ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ and firemen outfits.”

“I told you this place was the real deal,” he sipped on his drink, and Victor might have seen him wink, but his eyes were too focused on the stripper dancing – it was hard to be sure.

“Don’t get too excited, though. I still would rather be in bed.”

“You’re always grumpy when I’m right, Nikiforov.”

“I’m always grumpy when you’re _you._ ”

“Well, I am always right,” Chris laughed.

“You’re annoying and paying for my beer,” Victor laughed along humorlessly, signaling to the waiter to bring him another beer.

“Victor, my dearest friend, listen to the voice of reason. You’re a figure skater in a gay strip club. It’s okay if you want to order something actually fun, like a Sex On the Beach.”

“Please,” Victor snorted, “I’m confident enough in my homosexuality to order a beer. Besides, I can’t be hungover tomorrow. Some of us actually have a shot at winning the Grand Prix.”

“I’m going to ignore that little petty comment that just proves you’re jealous of my life. I can have fun _and_ win competitions.”

“What? Do you hear that? Oh, it’s the gigantic pile of second place medals with your name on them.”

“Shut up, beer lover. Have you ever had a Tequila Sunrise? Or body shots? Oh, what’s that? Old lonely Victor? Oh yes, that makes sense.”

“My burn was worse, I’m sorry Chris,” Victor smirked. “And tequila is _always_ a mistake, don’t you remem- _holy shit_ those are some complicated moves.”

“I know, right?”

“How did you even find this place? You can’t exactly google ‘classy strip club.’ Those words and adjectives don’t go together.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond but their waiter brought Victor’s beer; it was golden, cold, and downright delicious. But as soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Chris replied with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“I googled ‘classy strip club for old, stuck up friend.”

“Okay, listen here you litt-”

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for… Eros!”

Suddenly everything went dark. A single spotlight lit up the world’s most beautiful stripper. His jet-black hair was pushed back, making Victor focus on his dark eyes, which were full of lust and confidence.

And then he started dancing, doing complete justice to his name.

_Eros._

“Holy fucking shit,” Victor muttered to himself.

Eros’ dance exuded sin; everything from the way he moved his hips to the attention of his hands on every single bit of his own skin - it was intoxicating. Victor knew his jaw had dropped but he didn’t have it in him to close it.

There was a smoothness to his routine – the same fluidity of a choreographed routine Victor himself would perform. Eros clearly knew _exactly_ what he was doing and Victor hated his stupid, sexy smirk with a burning passion.

His body was lean and slightly muscular, so it was mind-blowing watching him hold himself so elegantly and effortlessly on the pole. He was holding his entire body weight with one hand, his feet pointed like a goddamn ballerina, and his thighs… It was enough to make the skater lose his train of thought.

Victor was smitten. Eros danced with the sensuality and class of a lady, but the eyes of an experienced porn star. The skater in Victor immediately felt inspired; a routine based on Eros would _melt_ the ice.

As he watched Eros perform, Victor’s strongest beliefs shattered in front of his eyes. He had never believed in soulmates. Victor was a highly logical man. According to basic logic, on a planet of seven billion people spread throughout countless countries, it was easier to win the lottery than to find your soulmate – and that was only assuming ‘soulmates’ were a thing. It was just as unlikely that humans had souls that could mix-and-match.  

Love at first sight was also a ridiculous concept; Victor would never fall for someone because of their looks alone. Love at first sight was a dull belief – there was a lot more to love than outward appearance. The skater believed love was _built_ ; he’d have to fall for every single aspect of the person before he could even consider himself in love.

Destiny was also something Victor thought was bullshit. He was a firm believer in free will, so even if there _was_ an almighty force controlling his path, he would still be able to make his own choices that would let him up on different paths.  

All that went down the drain because of Eros.

It was destiny that put Victor in that strip club – well, Chris, but he had mentioned several times his stripper name would be Destiny. It was love at first sight, or first dance. And then, finally, his stammering heart was sure that the nearly naked man on stage was his soulmate.

“I see you,” Chris, who Victor had completely forgotten about, was staring at him.

“I-I’m! Do you see this?! He’s clearly a _trained_ dancer!”

“Eros? I know, right? Apparently, he has a ballet background.”

“I… Whoa.”

“Looks like someone is in love!” Chris giggled.

“Shut up,” Victor blushed. He tried to tell himself it was because Eros was half naked, dancing in skin-tight _panties_ in front of him, and not because he might actually be in love with a goddamn strippe- _oh God_ , why was he leaving the stage so soon?!

“You know what, I’m buying you a lap dance.”

“Wait, what?!”

Victor Nikiforov was known for being a calm person, collected even. He never got nervous before he got on ice, regardless of how tough the competition was. Hell, he went to the _Olympics_ without breaking a sweat. And yet, the thought of a lap dance _terrified_ him. How was he even supposed to behave?! What if he got an embarrassing boner or something? There was no book on ‘Lap Dance Etiquette for Dummies’ – and even if there was, it was definitely _not_ on his Amazon wish list.

The skater swallowed hard when he saw Chris walking back with Eros in tow. Eros was clearly shorter than Chris, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made him look powerful, making the height difference feel minimal.

How was he supposed to look Eros in the eye after thinking he was his goddamn _soulmate_? What if they actually got together? Was he supposed to tell the story of how he met the love of his life to his mother like: ‘The first time we talked was during a lap dance Chris paid for.”  

His cup was still half full of beer and he gulped it down in a couple of seconds. _Why didn’t I order the damned tequila when I had the chance?_

Chris smiled as he stopped at their table, probably mumbling some snarky remark which made Eros grin too; his smile was blinding, stripping Victor of any rational thought.

“Enjoy it, Vitya.”


	2. Money in the garter belts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God. Why did he wear skinny jeans?

“Vitya, huh?” Eros turned his dark eyes to Victor and he almost swallowed his tongue. It was too damn much. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and his breathing felt uncomfortable from the anticipation building up inside him. The way Eros raised one eyebrow slightly and showed him a glimpse of a crooked smile drove him crazy; the goddamn stripper was a flirting machine.

“Follow me,” the stripper’s voice softened as he started walking away. Victor jumped out of his seat and tried to keep up with Eros, but it was hard. The skater constantly got distracted by the soft sway of the man’s hips.

“Where are we going?” Victor inquired when he finally caught up with Eros.

“This is your lucky day. My policy is to always give a little private show for someone’s first lap dance here,” Eros winked, “so we’re going to the Athens Room.”

 _Well. This is how I die,_ Victor thought as he followed Eros to a golden door; the Athens door. It was stupidly cheesy to name the private rooms after Greek cities, and that thought helped Victor relax a bit. He distracted himself by mentally insulting the club and their stupid theme that had nothing to do with stripping at all.

The Athens Room was nothing but fancy. There was a large black couch in the middle, and a golden pole right in front of it. The room was painted black, just like the rest of the club, but the wall behind the pole had droopy, gold curtains. The dim lights cloaked the room in shadow.

The only problem? It was very small, which made Victor swallow hard upon entering.

He assumed the couch was for him, so he sat down. His heart was hammering in his chest almost painfully. _Maybe this is how heart attacks feel_ , he thought. The combination of anticipation, anxiety, and trembling excitement was making Victor’s legs quiver.

Eros turned around to look him in the eye as soon as the music started. It wasn’t too loud, but the stripper was clearly immersed in it. He started moving to the beat, slowly and surely towards Victor.

He panicked.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “Eros. Uh, I-you…”

“Yes?” Eros cracked a smile, still striding tantalizingly slow towards Victor.

“You-ah, live here?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t live at a strip club. My roomies would steal all the glitter. And all the men.” He winked at Victor and his rhythm shifted. He wasn’t just walking anymore, there were moves now; carefully planned moves, architected to highlight Eros’ best features: all of him. Victor couldn’t decide what was best on the man: his ridiculous thighs, his dark eyes, his surprisingly small waist…

“Hahah,” Victor coughed up a laugh. “I meant-”

“I know what you meant.”

“Is Eros your real name?”

The stripper didn’t say anything, but he did blow Victor a kiss that then blew a gigantic hole in his heart.

“How old are you?”

“What a terrible question to ask.” Eros smile disappeared and he dropped to his knees. When Victor realized he was _crawling_ towards him, he felt unusually hot; he prayed he wasn’t blushing. He knew he hadn’t been tanning considering how goddamn cold it was back home, so his blush would be evident from miles away.

Victor’s panicking intensified. Eros was getting closer slowly, like a killer in a horror movie would move to attack their last victim. Victor was falling perfectly into the victim’s role; he was a deer in Eros’ headlights, unable to move or tear his eyes away from that scene unfolding in front of him.

He started babbling again.

“I-I- you ballet?”

 _Great fucking job, Nikiforov,_ Victor scolded himself. Maybe he could thicken his accent; perhaps Eros wouldn’t think he was brain-dead if he knew English wasn’t his first language. A lot of people thought Russians were scary, right? Maybe he could redeem himself.

“Eloquence is _so_ sexy,” Eros smirked. He leaned over Victor - each palm right next to the skater’s thighs. It was probably his imagination, but he swore he could feel the heat emanating from Eros’ body. “Why are you asking so many questions, huh? Do you want my mother’s name? Zip code? Social security number?” Eros teased, raising himself between Victor’s legs.

“Nah, the only number I want from you is your phone number,” The skater countered. He couldn’t _believe_ the words had left his mouth, but he mentally high-fived his brain on the perfect timed reply. Now Eros knew he wasn’t a smitten little kitten but a goddamn flirt too.

Eros smile lasted for a millisecond. He grabbed Victor by the collar of his shirt, making the skater look him in the eye while he slowly sat down on Victor’s lap – he couldn’t win _one freaking_ battle. Victor felt his jaw fall open and he knew Eros noticed; the little shit was smiling again.

“Aren’t you a smart mouth?” He whispered in Victor’s ear.

“I tend to imitate the people I’m with,” Victor shot back.

“Funny, Vitya, I don’t recall stuttering around you,” Eros’ fingers trailed down from his collar to his chest and Victor’s face was suddenly on fire.

He was probably blushing bright red-no, _vermillion_ by now.

“Or blushing,” Eros’ lips were so close to Victor’s ear he could _feel_ them. _You win_ , he thought. He stopped talking and tried to enjoy his lap dance for a little while. He had failed stupendously at flirting, so maybe he should just quit.

And honestly, Eros was a sight for sore eyes.

There were two different, ongoing perspectives in Victor’s mind. His skater mind was analyzing every single nuance of Eros; his facial expressions to his moves, the angles of his arms to the roaming of his fingers. Victor noticed the lap dance was not a choreographed masterpiece like his stage performance, but more of an intuitive dance. He probably performed several of these per day – his muscle memory taking over and letting his facial expressions run free.

However, there was the more animalistic side of Victor – the side of him that saw a beautiful man dancing on his lap, seducing him with every fiber of his being. It was the side of him that completely ignored dance references from different styles and all that professional crap.

God. Why did he wear skinny jeans?

“Eros…” Victor started but the stripper shushed him, holding a finger up to Victor’s mouth to stop him from talking.

“You know, Vitya, people don’t usually talk during my performance,” Eros’ eyes studied him carefully. He must have gotten to a conclusion because another smirk bloomed on his lips. “Are you nervous?”

“It is my first time getting a lap dance. I haven’t had time to read the etiquette manual,” Victor tried to use his ‘I am flirting’ voice, which usually got him laid, but there wasn’t a big reaction from Eros.

“I’m _honored_ to take your virginity.”

Victor choked on his own saliva. He thanked whichever entity was listening that he wasn’t drinking anything; he would have done a spit-take worthy of a bad rom-com.

This was not a situation Victor was used to. He was known for being an unapologetic flirt; he had always been confident in his outward appearance just as much as his personality, and knew he was attractive. He was used to being in Eros’ shoes – flirting, teasing, and controlling the other’s emotions, and that wasn’t only regarding dating. Victor was used to doing that on ice. His skating was astonishing, and he was confident in it. His favorite thing was to draw gasps from the crowd while he performed.

He wasn’t used to being the one gasping in the crowd. He wasn’t used to be the one blushing and stuttering, just like he wasn’t used to someone being so _unpredictable_. He needed to know how Eros did that, how he held himself with such unbelievable presence. Overall, he just needed _more_.

The song ended far too quickly. Eros smiled and got up from his lap, leaving Victor feeling cold. He didn’t know what the usual post-lap-dance behavior was. Was he supposed to thank him? Shake his hand?

Victor had no clue, but he was sure he couldn’t let Eros just leave and walk out of his life so fast. He had a split-second to make a decision, and he let his heart talk louder than his brain; he jumped off the couch to stop Eros from leaving.

“Eros, wait.”

“Yes?”

“I have one question still.”

“Yes?” Eros repeated, an amused glint in his eye.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

“That is not a question,” the stripper winked, making Victor frustrated and endeared at the same time. It was so _odd_ how Eros could provoke such polar feelings inside of him.

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I _am_ difficult.”

“Fine. Will you go out to dinner with me?”

“Look, Vitya,” Eros repeated the nickname that killed Victor on the inside every time it left the stripper’s lips. “You seem like a very nice guy, but I don’t date customers.”

“I’m not a customer,” Victor tried to argue. “I came here once. And forcefully, if that helps my case.”

“I would love to, but I can’t,” Eros smile was different this time. It wasn’t the same teasing, flirty smile he had flashed Victor many times before, but a softer, almost apologetic grin. It made him look a bit more human and less, well, divine.

Eros left the Athens Room before Victor could stop him again. He took a second to compose himself; not only did he get rejected by the man he believed to be his soulmate, but he also felt incredibly turned on. He was sure Chris was going to take one look at his face and just _know,_ and he didn’t need that after what had happened.

He took a few deep breaths, put on his best professional face, and left the room. There was another stripper performing now, and even though he seemed great, Victor was disappointed that he wasn’t Eros. He walked back to the booth where Chris was sitting, trying not to let his disappointment show.

“Hey! How was the lap dance?”

“Chris…”

“What?”

“Order me a shot of tequila.”

“Wha- _Victor Nikiforov._ What did you do?! This is the best strip club _ever_ , if you got yourself banned I am going to _kil_ -”

“I asked a stripper out.”

“You did what?!” Chris exclaimed.

“I asked him out!” It was hard to avoid how stupid his plan was now.

“Holy shit, this is the best day of my life! Victor Nikiforov is going out with a stripper! This is worth its weight in gold-”

“How can you talk about gold if you never won?” Victor hissed.

“Not even that can ruin my happiness, my dearest Vitya.”

“He said no.”

“Oh.” Chris’ face fell, his smile turning into a pout. “Yep. That does it. The Lord gives but He takes too. I was so happy, couldn’t you just let me entertain the idea of you dating a stripper for just five minutes? I could have planned double dates. Oh, he could have set me up with his stripper friends. Dammit Victor, why did he say no?!”

“He doesn’t date customers.”

“But you’re not a customer, at least not a regular or something.”

“That’s what I said,” Victor sighed, waving his hand to get a waiter’s attention. He ordered a deserving dose of Jose Cuervo. Chris ordered a shot for himself, and Victor was relieved he wouldn’t have to drink alone; his friend was a lightweight, contrary to popular belief, and drunk Chris would probably make it easy to forget Eros.

“Well, I mean, at least you didn’t get a stripper date before me.”

“Incredibly, that makes me feel better,” Victor laughed. The skater kind of wanted to see Chris try to get a date with Eros instead; just because his friend always claimed to have the strongest power of seduction on Earth. It’d be funny to see him get dumped, however, Victor would _die_ if Eros gave Chris a shot.

He would Die. Capital D, of death. It was one thing to get rejected by his stripper (extra emphasis on _stripper_ ) soulmate, but at least he could pretend Eros’ excuse was the real deal; he didn’t date people from the club and that was _fine_.

Wait.

He didn’t date people from the club. All he had to do was to plan a ‘casual’ run in with the man out in the streets. Victor could probably recognize that face from miles away – and if he couldn’t see the face, his, well, ass, would do the job. It was incredibly memorable.

“You’re plotting. What are you thinking Victor? I’m scared.”

“Okay, hear me out: what if I casually run into Eros on the streets?” Victor tried to reason with Chris. “I won’t be a customer then and if I invite him out for coffee he won’t have a reason to say no.”

“I wish I didn’t have to say this… Before I do, just know I am incredibly proud of you for _really_ wanting to date that stripper. Props, bro.”

“Don’t say bro.”

“As I was saying… Stalking. That’s what you’re talking about. Some people might find it okay, but half of those people are currently in jail. You really don’t want to be a stalker, Victor. Especially not a stripper stalker.”

“It’s not stalking. It’s a casual, fate, encounter.”

“It is stalking. Stalking is bad, Victor.”

Their shots of tequila arrived, interrupting their debate. Victor didn’t give Chris a chance to get started on his speech again; he licked the salt from the back of his hand, downed his shot like a _pro_ and sucked on the lemon before the tequila burnt his mouth too badly.

Victor had forgotten how good tequila could be. It tasted amazing – the mix of tequila and lemon was still lingering in his mouth – not to mention he instantly felt warm. It was just enough that he would probably get drunk in a bit, but it wasn’t too much that he would have a hangover the next day.

“What happened to not getting drunk?”

“It’s one shot of tequila, Chris. I won’t die,” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Sure. So, where were we? Oh yeah, you stalking a stripper. God, this day just gets better,” Chris laughed, his voice roaring above the music. “How do you plan on orchestrating the meeting with your stripper? We’re leaving tomorrow. Yakov will kill you if you stay here chasing strippers instead of going to practice.”

“I know, I know…” Victor sighed, “it was a crazy idea. Honestly, I think I just need a brea- _no_. Vacation. Maybe I can take some time off after Worlds.”

The skater tried to remember the last time he took a couple of weeks off skating to unwind and he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember. Had he really been that much of a workaholic?

Thinking further, Victor realized he didn’t have time for anything but skating. If it wasn’t for Chris dragging him to strip joints and gay dance clubs whenever they competed, Victor didn’t go out. His last one night stand was probably _years_ ago and he had never had a relationship outside the one he had with his career.

“Victor Nikiforov is taking a break from skating to chase a stripper?! This is it. This is the best day of my life,” Chris’ laugh brought Victor back to reality.

“I was thinking more of something along the lines of sandy beach, blue sea, and tanning weather,” Victor smirked. Well, if he could come back to chase his stripper he would, but he would never let Chris know about _that._

“You’re really getting old. Taking breaks from _skating?_ I’d expect that from, literally, anyone but you,” Chris assumed a more serious tone when he realized the older skater meant it.

“Not old. Uninspired.”

“Says the guy who broke his own world record like five hours ago,” Chris rolled his eyes, a little bit of bitterness in his tone.

“Uninspired doesn’t mean untalented,” Victor couldn’t let but smile at his friend.

“Doesn’t mean your clock isn’t ticking either.”

“You’re just saying that so I back off and give you a fair shot at winning for once.”

“Well, I can’t say it isn’t true,” Chris raised his empty tequila cup in a toast.

It always happened, Victor thought, whenever they hung out. Chris had been a good friend for some solid years now, but at some point when they were together, there was always that one moment of _tension_ between them. It happened with every skater Victor knew and was close to – they would start discussing skating and a weird competitive mood would settle between them.

Victor rarely ever felt _guilty_ ; he felt as if his consecutive winnings were encouragement to the younger skaters. However, he didn’t like how it always happened – it didn’t matter who he was with, or where they were, skating always came up, and it always ruined the mood.

“Yura is skating the senior division next year. Even if I back off, you’re not winning.”

“That kid?”

“Yup.”

“Whoa, I thought he was still thirteen or some- _ugh_ , Victor you’re doing it again!”

“What did I do?!”

“You only ever think about _skating_. Can’t we enjoy strippers and alcohol for _one_ night like normal people?!”

“Fine, sorry, sorry,” Victor had to laugh at Chris’ frustration. He was about to think about how he would be frustrated if he were in Chris’ shoes, placing second _again_ , but he shoved that thought out of his mind. Tonight, he was going to be normal. He was going to enjoy strippers as much as one could, for one night.

And it’s not like he could say that one night of enjoying Eros would be _bad_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all THANK YOU GUYS SO DAMN MUCH for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks!!! I'm really, really excited about this fic so the response just Kills Me™  
> I've settled on updating every Tuesday/Wednesday, so if I don't feel free to yell at me on twitter @moimiles.  
> Finally, thanks again to @cresstic for freaking out about this fic with me. <3 
> 
> Ps: I have a spotify playlist with all the "stripper" songs naming the chapters, so if anyone is interested, I can post the link!! *finger guns*


	3. Your lipstick got me so out of breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, it was Burlesque night at the Sculpted Greeks.

Victor won the Grand Prix. It wasn’t really a surprise to anyone but him. Why? Competing with Eros on his mind was hard – quite literally. He thought he’d be able to shake it off by the next event, after all, nothing had happened between him and the stripper.

And yet performing became incredibly difficult. His interpretation was extremely sexual when it wasn’t supposed to be. If he was going to compete next season, he’d have to go for an _extremely_ sexy routine or he’d lose all his interpretation points.

Needless to say, all of his competitions _sucked_ after that.

Poor, innocent Victor assumed his thoughts of the stripper would fade with time, as well as his memories of their time together – Victor refused to call it just a lap dance, it was some earth-stopping, heart-shattering, soulmate thing – and yet, he could remember _everything_. He remembered everything, from how Eros felt on his lap to how the touch of his fingertips felt on Victor’s skin. If Victor concentrated enough, he could _see_ that smirk that had been haunting his dreams for months.

He needed time off (or to get off). He needed to go on vacation, drink up, and, desperately, get laid. The more rational side of him was trying to convince him that Eros wasn’t his soulmate. He was just his type and someone he happened to run into when he was too focused on skating to get some.

So Victor entertained himself by researching exotic vacation spots – he’d need a refreshing change to forget Eros. However, the more he researched, the more the wanted to go back to the United States, particularly to one poorly-named club.

Maybe he needed one more fix. One more lap dance, one more performance, one for the road. He needed to have that confirmation; they would never happen. Victor would never get to take that man to bed and make him breakfast in the morning. He’d never be able to drive his neighbors insane – insanely jealous. All those incredibly nasty, but also cute scenarios, would never come true. That’s what Victor told himself over and over again.

But then it happened in his dreams.

It happened _hard._

Winning gold at Worlds didn’t compare to the feeling of Eros’ dreamy lips on his. Victor was trying so damn hard to get over his crush and yet his sub-consciousness was desperately latching onto Eros. It broke Victor’s heart to dream of being with someone and yet wake up in bed alone.

He tried, but he couldn’t overcome it. It was driving him insane. It was shortly after his stunning win at Worlds that he decided to go back; Victor would deny it to his deathbed that it was because of a _stripper_ , but he was decided.

He’d rent a small apartment in the city, and spend some time with his dog, enjoying some down time. Victor promised himself a couple of weeks to rest to clear his mind – he’d pay for a few lap dances and be back to Russian to train with Yakov in less than a month.

Well, at least that’s what his rational side thought.

His love-struck side, however, had a very different perspective. Victor hated it, but his heart fluttered when he thought of walking into the strip club and demanding a lap dance from the love of his life. Maybe he should surprise Eros and strip naked; invert their roles for once. Chris told him that if he got butt-naked in a strip club he’d be banned, so he decided against the idea. He even imagined him and Eros doing all sorts of sappy things, from going out for a dinner date to pair skating.

‘ _What do you mean he probably can’t ice skate, Chris? He pole dances, I mean!’_

He just wanted to take Eros away from the world and bring him in his suitcase everywhere he went. He had the strong urge to just _protect_ the stripper from harm, which was just ridiculous. Maybe it was jealously, but that thought was even worse.

Victor tried to pretend there wasn’t a side of him thinking of packing a whole bag of just condoms and lube.

So a couple of weeks after his win at Worlds, Victor packed his bags, grabbed his dog and some piroshki for the road and left for the States. He managed to find a rental apartment quite easily – it was near the strip club Eros worked which was a plus. Apparently, it was in a campus region, so the apartment was not too expensive.

Luckily, there was also a skating rink nearby, so Victor could practice if he wanted. He promised himself he’d avoid skating for at least a week, but he was sure he’d be holed up in the rink by day two.

Victor was unpacking in his brand-new rental apartment when his phone rang. He thought of ignoring it – he wanted some peace and quiet during his vacation time – but when he saw Chris’ name flashing on the screen he picked up out of habit.

“Hel-”

“You really took time off are you okay?!” Chris yelled into Victor’s ear painfully.

“Isn’t it like… two in the morning in Switzerland?”

“That is not relevant!”

“It’s just for a couple of weeks. There’s a skating rink close by too, I’m still keeping you in check for those gold medals,” Victor smiled as he threw himself in bed. His dog happily joined him.

“Where are you? I thought you were going to Cancun. Or was it Rio?”

“If Yakov asks, you don’t know where I am.”

“Victor,” Chris took a dramatic breath, “I really don’t know where you are.”

“I may or may not be within walking distance of a certain strip club.”

“Holy shit, _what?_ Victor, are you-” Victor hung up the phone before Chris started to get too excited to speak proper English; he had to habit of slipping in and out of French when he spoke too fast and Latin languages were _not_ Victor’s favorite.

He turned off his phone and ignored the unpleasant feeling settling in his chest. He didn’t know why he was keeping it a secret from, well, _everyone_ that he was in America. Yakov wouldn’t be mad at him for taking a few weeks off skating; Lord knows he needed it.

But the thing was, Victor didn’t know if it was going to _be_ just a month.

He shoved those thoughts out of his head and pet Makkachin. It was almost time to get ready for paying Eros a visit. He amused himself in the shower by coming up with responses for the wildest things Eros could say. It was stupid of him to have such high hopes of being able to _speak_ in his presence, but Victor was a hopeful man.

Victor felt like he was twelve and getting ready for a stupid date, except with a lot more vodka involved. He dressed up nicely; a black shirt and tie that made his hair and eyes stand out in contrast and pants that were _not_ skinny. He had made that mistake once, and he was not willing to suffer through it again.

He left after giving Makkachin some food. Victor had missed the company of his dog and he promised to take Makkachin on a long walk the next morning – there should be a park nearby.

Walking to the strip club, Victor almost considered buying flowers, but he decided that was a bit too much, and a bit too pathetic. He and Eros had _nothing._  It would seem _extremely_ creepy to buy flowers to a stripper he barely knew – especially with the pretense that he was in love with him.

The strip club looked exactly the same – black building, pink neon sign, bouncer by the door. Victor showed his ID and walked in with nostalgia washing over him. So much had happened in the months since Victor had last been in there, and yet nothing had changed.

Well, perhaps one thing: Victor felt hope blooming inside his chest. He wanted to see Eros again so badly that it was painful; and not ‘in his pants’ kind of painful. There was a longing that brought him back to the club.

Victor took the same seat he did the last time – a booth close to the stage. He ordered a beer, ready to wait for Eros’ performance in style. His beer arrived right before the first performance of the night.

Apparently, it was Burlesque night at the Sculpted Greeks.

It almost made him choke on his beer. It wasn’t Eros on stage, - thank God, Victor would have had a _stroke_ – but a black-haired, blue-eyed beauty. He had an aura of confidence about him as he slowly _peeled_ his clothes off in rhythm with the music. It was incredibly amusing because of the cheek-and-tongue style of Burlesque seduction; Victor couldn’t take his eyes off him if he wanted to.

It made the skater wonder if whatever happened between him and Eros could have happened with any other stripper. He knew that the other strippers in the club were just as beautiful and talented as Eros, but there was something _more_ to him. Maybe it was something to do with the ridiculous soulmate deal; something inexplicably attractive.

Eros took his sweet damn time to get on stage. It was pissing Victor _off_. It was like the damn stripper knew he was waiting for him, there in the crowd, after months of thinking and thinking about him nonstop, so Eros had decided to go last.

He thought that he had been unlucky enough to come on a night Eros didn’t work or something. That would have been the letdown of a century. Imagine him, being there, so close to Eros, but having to wait another twenty-four hours to see him. It’d kill him. Victor was already half drunk and one hundred percent miserable by the time Eros was announced; the skater was almost ready to leave.

He was _so_ glad he didn’t.

Eros was wearing black again; maybe it was his signature color, maybe it was just a coincidence. However, he was wearing _less_. How less? Victor couldn’t tell because Eros was hiding and dancing behind two feather fans. The whole ensemble was impressive enough until Victor noticed that Eros had red lipstick on.

God, his memory didn’t do the man justice. He’d forgotten just how beautiful his face was, even when it was too dark to absorb every single detail of it. His body was a masterpiece – it was hard to take his eyes off Eros’ thighs long enough to even blink. It was impressive that he had such a masculine build – strong waist, large muscular thighs and calves, strong jaw – and yet he could pull of those feminine movements and types of seduction.   

It was with a shock that Victor realized Eros was _naked_. He was wearing nothing but lipstick and a devilish smile on his stupid, velvety lips. The feather fans were covering a good portion on his body but during his performance, Eros made it clear he was in his birthday suit by teasing his audience mercilessly.

Victor couldn’t believe his eyes. His memory had forgotten about so many details of Eros that it was almost insulting how little his imagination manage to portray. For instance, his eyes weren’t black, as much as they seemed to look like it; they were a deep brown color, almost auburn.

Eros smiled on his way off the stage and Victor was compelled to buy his lap dance right away; actually, he wanted to book Eros for the whole night. The skater did neither. He finished his almost stale beer, and ordered another one. He nursed his beer watching the other performances.

Now that he was so close, he wanted to take all the time he could to collect himself. This was a moment he had been imagining for _months_. If he was a blabbering mess in front of Eros _again_ he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night – shame would eat him up. So when he finally got up to buy his private lap dance, Victor felt confident.

Drunk, yes, but confident.

Eros’ private lap dance was _expensive._  Victor was taken by surprise at how pricey it was, but as he walked back to his seat he realized this was a _nice_ strip club. It was safe, for both the strippers and the clients, well planned, and the space was always clean. It was also no wonder the lap dances were a small fortune; the strippers had training. They weren’t just pretty boys in their underwear.

Victor saw Eros walking towards him. He wasn’t not naked anymore, to Victor’s relief but disappointed, but he wasn’t wearing much. Lace underwear didn’t leave _much_ to his imagination, but he tried to ignore that.

It was easy once he saw Eros still had his red lipstick on. There was nothing going on inside Victor’s mind but a string of ‘ _shitshitshitshit’._

“Well, aren’t you a beauty?” Eros smiled, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. It accentuated the soft curve of his, well, _shit._

“I came back.” Victor sounded as breathless as he felt.

“You’re not one of my regulars,” Eros cocked his head to the side, “who am I stealing you from?”

“You… don’t remember me?” The skater tried not to sound disappointed but he failed miserably.

“Of course I do, big boy,” the stripper winked, as if that was enough to make Victor forget he didn’t know his name. (It almost was.)

“What’s my name?”

“I wanna say Jack,” Eros smiled sweetly, like a child getting caught red-handed.

“No!”

“If it makes you feel better, you don’t know my name either,” Eros put an end to their discussion by walking away towards the Athens room.

Victor followed, of course, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel awful. He’d hoped Eros at least remembered his _name_. It felt awful to be so in love with someone who barely acknowledged his existence, and worse, Victor didn’t even know his real name. He walked into the Athens room feeling defeated; like he had lost a battle, but not yet the war.

Eros was setting the music as Victor sat on the leather couch. He realized he was drunker than he thought now that he wasn’t paying attention to Eros, but to how nicely the leather felt against his skin. The stripper was watching him, his index finger on his bottom lip as if he was deep in concentration; what could he be thinking about?

And then the music started and Eros walked straight up to Victor, sitting on his lap before the skater had a chance to mentally prepare himself. It took all of his will-power not to gasp when Eros started speaking, because his voice was something _else._ He could be reading from the phone book and Victor would hang onto every single syllable.

“Don’t be mad.”

“I-I’m not mad.” It was true, he wasn’t mad; Victor was just disappointed. He’d had a rough reality check and it hurt. Besides, he couldn’t blame the _stripper_ for all his high hopes.

“Do you want me to make it up to you?” Eros grinned, teeth dragging over crimson red lips. God, Victor wanted it so _bad_ , but he didn’t want it at the same time. He was so conflicted – how was he supposed to know what Eros meant? How was he supposed to go back to normal after seeing that man up close like this again? There was so much running through Victor’s mind it was hard to keep up.

It got harder when Eros’ face was so close to his that it was hard to resist the temptation to just reach out and _kiss_. There was a knowing look in Eros’ eyes that showed he knew and Victor hated it.

“You do, don’t you?” Eros whispered in Victor’s, his lips too close.

Victor was thankful the music was loud because he gasped like a twelve-year-old. It was stupid that he was so smitten just because a stripper was wearing _lipstick_. It wasn’t a big deal, just a man in make-up. He saw his own teammates wearing make-up and lipstick _all the damn time_ , and yet Eros made him wish he could wake up covered in vaguely mouth shaped red marks.

“I do,” Victor finally found his voice. “Let me take you out for dinner. Or, I’ve been told I’m an excellent cook.” He needed to be slapped. He wasn’t a good cook _at all_ , and he couldn’t believe how terribly infatuated he sounded.

Eros smiled sweetly. It was so _wrong_ for him to smile like that – it was fine when Eros smiled like a dirty porn star because it was expected, and Victor could react appropriately. Yet, the stripper was half-naked, the spitting image of _sin_ and smiling like an innocent bystander. Victor’s heart couldn’t take it.

He just wished it wasn’t so _dark_. Of course he saw the stripper just fine, but there wasn’t a sharpness to the details on his face (and body) like Victor wished. He wanted to memorize every inch of his skin, every single beauty mark on his beautiful goddamn body and-

“You didn’t say no,” Victor blurted as soon as he realized it, daring to place a hand on Eros’ waist.

“I can’t say yes.”

“Don’t say it, then.”

“You know, I _like_ you,” Eros started, and Victor was getting too hopeful. He didn’t say no – not in the same way he did before, months ago. Maybe he meant it, maybe he actually liked Victor. Maybe he felt the same unexplainable attraction Victor felt towards him. He dared to dream.

Eros bit his own lip, a vision sent from heaven, and then the stripper grabbed Victor’s tie, bringing the skater’s face forward until they were sharing the same air. He hoped to God that the strangled little noise he made was too quiet for Eros to actually hear.

“Too bad I don’t date customers.”

And with that, the song ended and Eros was out of his lap and out the door before Victor could understand what had just happened.

 

The following day sucked. Victor, the pinning idiot, stayed in the club, following Eros around the whole night with his eyes and feeling incredibly jealous every time he gave someone a lap dance. He started a little game; every time he felt like strangling someone, he took a shot.

Needless to say, he woke up the following morning with a killer headache and feeling like had been run over by a bus. Victor felt _even more_ defeated when he couldn’t stand up to take a shower – he had to sit down on the tub to keep himself from throwing up, or worse, falling. Yakov would murder him if he injured himself because of a hangover.

God, he _was_ getting old.

Victor dragged himself out of the shower, but barely managed to put on underwear before throwing himself back in bed. He checked his phone, seeing that he had a couple of messages from Chris, but that was about it – he replied and explained everything that happened the day before and how he was probably taking the next flight back to Russia in a few weeks.

“Is this what losing feels like, Makkachin?” Victor whined to his dog who just cocked his head.

He only managed to get out of bed after midday. He was starting to get too hungry to ignore it and Makkachin was getting restless; the dog needed to be walked soon. So Victor got dressed – not very well, he wasn’t too proud of that – put Makkachin on his leash, and left.

Life was fucking with him.

It was the sunniest, brightest day of the year. Probably. He immediately felt his headache get a hundred times worse and he was nearly blinded by the sudden glare. Victor desperately needed coffee and something extremely greasy. Usually the skater was more of a tea person rather than a coffee one, but he had forgotten how terrible hangovers could be.

He didn’t really know where he was going, but he was sure that if he walked long enough he’d find a coffee shop. It was America after all, land of Starbucks and overpriced coffee - it’d be surprising if he _couldn’t_ find a branch. It didn’t take him long come across one; the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him before he could even see the establishment.

And then he noticed something else.

Jet-black hair. A glimpse of a _very familiar_ face. And a walk that made Victor’s heart _shudder_. He couldn’t stop himself; before he knew it he was yelling in the middle of the sidewalk, running to catch up with the strangely familiar person walking in front of him.

“Eros?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that. A lil cliffhanger just to keep things fun ;)  
> Y'all should go and send some love to my beta @cresstic bc she's GREAT <3  
> Oh, by the way, I'm planning on making the updates a bit longer, and maybe take a few couple days extra to write them, but so far, I'm posting every Wednesday.  
> As usual, I'm on twitter @moimiles and on tumblr @katsuyuri  
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos ilu all my dudes


	4. It's the things I shouldn't see that always catch my eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The split second between him taking off his headphones and turning to face Victor dragged on for an eternity. It felt as if Victor was full of adrenaline; his whole world was slowing, as if time itself had to stop and see what would happen next

 

The split second between him taking off his headphones and turning to face Victor dragged on for an eternity. It felt as if Victor was full of adrenaline; his whole world was slowing, as if time itself had to stop and see what would happen next. Victor’s heart was hammering in his chest and his legs were quivering as if he was drunk - he couldn’t trust his steps.

He watched as Eros moved in slow-motion. That split second before he could see his face was oh so precious; hope tasted thick on his tongue. His face turned to Victor inch by inch, tantalizingly slow and-

_Oh._

It was like seeing a celebrity doppelganger, a look alike. Technically, they looked the same and they could totally be mistaken by one another, and yet, there was something _off_. Victor couldn't quite put his finger on what made that poor young man in front of him look different from Eros, but there was something. A little detail, a missing freckle, a softer look on his eyes...

He looked like Eros - the same jet-black hair, the same build, and yet this boy's eyes were kinder, covered by thick blue-rimmed glasses. It made his eyes look a little bigger, chocolate brown and beautiful, shining against the sun. He was an optical illusion – at first, a certain, solid image, but after a second it turned into something else entirely and he couldn’t unsee it.

"Uh, sorry, I-may I help you?"

Victor couldn't find words. The timber of his voice was too similar to Eros', and yet his words were quieter, less raspy, and certainly not loaded with sex appeal like Eros. They were _too normal_ , like any other ordinary person on the street, and that certainly couldn’t describe Eros’ voice.

"Sir?" the boy who, apparently, was _not_ Eros, asked again. Victor frowned at the word 'sir'. Was he really that old looking? Certainly, he was confusing random strangers in the streets for strippers and he had gray hair (granny-hair was fashionable as hell, wasn’t it?) but _come on_.

It wasn't Victor's day at all.

"I'm sorry," Victor finally found it within himself to speak again. He probably couldn’t take being called 'sir' again. His day was shitty enough without the reminder of his old, near dying age. "I-I thought you were someone else. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience.”

"That's okay," the young man smiled softly. God, it was a beautiful smile. Victor's day so far was one miserable occasion after the other but that sweet, bright, sunshine-like smile made everything feel just a little less worse. Maybe he’d even forgive him for calling Victor ‘sir’. "You just scared me half to death."

"I'm very sorry about it. Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee for your troubles?"

After all, Victor was having a shitty day and it was mid-morning; he made a split-second decision just _because_. The young man was cute, regardless of his relation to Eros, and Victor was hungover as if the universe was taking the day off to tell him to suck it. He was allowed to make _one_ spur of the moment decision.

And, after all, did Victor have a chance with Eros? Any, whatsoever? He was tipping towards a certain, absolute no. He might be a pinning idiot, but he wasn't too keen on suffering that much because of a _stripper_ \- it was too pathetic. He was used to winning, and _Victor Nikiforov_ wasn’t going to insist on being rejected, no matter how damn attractive that particular stripper was.  

"Oh! That'd be great, actually," the young man's smile was shier this time, and there was a faint pink blush dusting his cheeks. It was nothing but adorable and Victor thought he had made the best possible choice. Even if he wasn't anything like Eros, Victor was gay for shy boys and cute smiles (Well. He was overall gay, but he had a softer spot for those kind of boys).

They sat on a table outside the coffee shop because of Makkachin – the coffee shop employees probably wouldn’t like a large, excited poodle inside. As soon as Victor lessened the grip on his dog's leash, though, Makkachin was happy to get to know his new acquaintance. The large dog was yelping at the young man’s legs, asking, nay, _demanding_ to be petted. He tried to get the dog to stop but he didn't want to pull too harshly on the leash and god only knew how much Makkachin ignored Victor when he wanted to.

"Makkachin, sit!" Victor ordered harshly in Russian, hoping the dog would react better to the language.

"That's fine, I used to have a poodle just like him," he continued petting Makkachin's head with a smile on his lips. "I actually really like dogs. Oh, and I'm Yuuri, by the way."

_Yuuri._

Victor's heart softened. Yuuri, the adorable boy with a peachy pink blush on his cheeks and ears, who liked dogs and had agreed to having a cup of coffee with him. That was all the information Victor had on Yuuri so far, but it made him grin unconsciously. _This is real_ , he told himself, _it's happening, you're basically on a date with a boy, please stop thinking and comparing him to a stripper._

"I'm Victor, and this is Makkachin. It's very nice to meet you, Yuuri," Victor flashed the young man one of his brightest smiles, followed by a wink. It made Yuuri smile too, but a faint blush rose up to his cheeks again and Victor had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. "Let's order, shall we? Do you want anything to eat?"

"Oh, no, it's fine, I'll just have a latte."

"Okay," Victor nodded and signaled to the closest waiter to order their drinks. He needed a stronger caffeine boost to kill his hangover, so Victor chose a double espresso and a bagel - he really needed the carbs to make himself feel _less_ like a smoking pile of garbage.

"Uh, say, Victor, you look weirdly familiar. Have we met anywhere else?" Yuuri squinted adorably at Victor and the skater had to fight a blush.

Victor Nikiforov didn’t blush. Really, he didn't blush, he was a grown ass man who didn't have time to be blushing like a virgin at every embarrassing moment. But then his asshole of a brain automatically made him think _'yeah! you were grinding on my lap last night, sup_?' and he could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

Well, _that_ Yuuri and Eros had in common: they both made Victor blush like a goddamn schoolgirl.

"Well, I'm a pretty big deal in my profession: I've been on TV a couple of times, maybe you've seen me then?"

Nice recovery, Victor.

"Oh! Are you an actor? Phichit recently got me addicted to Netflix, that's-"

"No!" Victor laughed at the improbability of that. He was a terrible actor; there was no denying that. He was too extroverted and easily excitable. "I'm a figure skater."

"That's a really funny coincidence, then," Yuuri laughed. "My roommate is a figure skater too. Maybe you have competed together!"

That was good: familiar territory. Talking about skating was easy; it was second nature to Victor. He could talk about skating in his sleep, and it made him relax on his chair. Maybe it was his imagination, but even his hangover gave out a bit when Yuuri brought up his skating roommate. It was easy, normal, and so characteristically Victor - it was way easier than his insane overthinking of a stripper.

"Really? What's his name?"

"Phichit Chulanont. He’s actually from Thailand, but we’ve been roommates since freshman year."

"His name does sound familiar, did he qualify to World's last season?" Victor placed his fingers on his chin unconsciously as he thought back to his competition, eyes drifting away as he tried to match the name to a face.

"Oh, no, no, he almost got into the Grand Prix if I'm not mistaken... I'm sorry, I don't know too much about skating. Most of the time Phichit gets into skating talk I tend to zone out. I don't get most of it. I'm just a regular college student, I'm afraid," Yuuri trailed off, that shy little smile blooming on his lips.

He looked slightly embarrassed, and while Victor wasn’t too into easily embarrassed people, he thought it was kind of endearing for Yuuri. And, besides, Victor didn’t expect every single person he met to know everything about skating and love it as much as he did.

"Are you kidding? Yuuri, it's fine. Perfect, even." Victor felt an urge to comfort him. "It's actually a relief to be forced to talk about something other than skating," he explained.

"Really?"

"Are you encouraging me to talk about skating?" Victor teased, leaning forward closer to Yuuri.

"Do you want to hear about boring lectures and finals?" Yuuri's smile was still shy, but his voice took a more teasing tone that gave Victor chills. It reminded him too much of Eros, so much it was almost painful.

Damn.

The last thing he wanted was to let the stripper invade his mind while he was talking to Yuuri. He barely knew him, and there couldn't be a worst interaction than _'Hey, Yuuri, I’m sorry, but I was just wondering if you happen to be a stripper part-time?_ '

If Yuuri wasn't Eros, it'd be so mortifying - Victor would ruin everything between them, even if it was just one casual cup of coffee. If he was Eros, it’d be equally bad because the stripper had made it explicitly clear that he didn’t date customers.  

Victor noticed that Yuuri and Eros had one thing in common; they were both extremely alluring, intriguing even. Eros was just more obvious to it - he was alluring because he was a walking porno. He was sex on legs and that tended to stick in every gay dude's mind; maybe even some straight dudes, he was that good. Yuuri, however… Victor couldn't quite put his finger on why he was drawn to him. Maybe it was how sweetly he blushed, maybe it was just because he was cute. There wasn't a good explanation yet, but he was determined to find out.  

"It sounds wonderful," Victor replied a little late.

"You hesitated," Yuuri laughed.

"I did not!" Victor felt compelled to laugh along.

"Did I imagine that five second pause?"

"I am one-hundred percent sure you did," he grinned. "Come on, I actually do want to hear all about it. What's your major?"

So he listened to Yuuri ramble about his normal college life. He was a business major with a minor in tourism because his family had a bathhouse inn in Japan that desperately needed more customers. Yuuri decided to take university abroad, and bring foreign knowledge to his family’s business. Victor, of course, wanted to know all about the inn and he was so _impressed_ by what Yuuri told him about the hot-springs and ninja houses he almost regretted going to the United States over Japan.

It was actually really nice - it felt like a date, if Victor was honest. Yuuri was telling Victor about himself, his childhood in Japan and his family while Victor did the same. They laughed over how funny it was that they were both from outside the United States; they poked fun at unusual western culture for a solid twenty minutes.

Yuuri told Victor all about how he used to take ice-skating lessons in Japan when he was little but because of a bully in the ice-rink he decided to quit. It made Victor laugh hard with disbelief when Yuuri mentioned he was too chubby for ice skating anyway - the man was in prime physique. It was too early on to flirt and tell him some of the things Victor wanted to ('you look so good I could probably eat you with a spoon' was a strong contestant), so he just laughed.

They had finished their coffee, and yet conversation still seemed to come easy between them. Victor felt unusually happy for someone hungover. Granted, he felt better now that he was well fed and had caffeine in his system, but still. It felt nice to just sit outside with someone and talk about something other than skating. Victor realized that he didn't have any friends outside of skating. He was lucky his conversational skills weren't rusty; he couldn't remember when was the last time he laughed this hard outside the rink. It was a sad realization, but at least he was trying to make up for it.

Another thing Victor realized, though, was that the more Yuuri talked the less Victor could see him as Eros. It was uncanny - he suddenly could point out exactly what made him different from Eros, as if the optical illusion had been shattered. He couldn't jokingly tease without a blush dusting his cheeks, for example; Yuuri's attempts at teasing (and maybe even flirting, if Victor was reading it correctly) were always followed by either blushing or that shy smile that blew Victor's mind bit by bit. Maybe there was something about the way he held himself too; Yuuri was confident, sure, but he wasn't the unwavering rock that Eros was. Eros would walk on stage butt naked without batting one perfectly long eyelash. Victor didn't know Yuuri well enough yet, but he couldn't image the Japanese boy walking around naked without imploding.

When their coffee cups were long empty, they came full circle.

"Are you competing around here?"

"No, not really."

"If you don't mind me asking, uh, why are you here then? The United States has a lot of other more interesting places."

Victor almost blurted, 'yeah, but the strippers here are mind-blowing.'

"I'm taking a break from skating, and I competed here last time, but I didn't have time to really explore the city. I've done the New York/Los Angeles tour already, don't worry," he joked, winking at Yuuri.

"Taking a break?"

"Yeah, well, at the risk of bragging, I just won again, and I thought a little peace and quiet might be good. And hey, good company."

"Won? So you're good?" Yuuri leaned forward, suddenly taking interest in the conversation.

"Really good," Victor nodded.

"Just how good?"

"Yuuri," he laughed, stretching the sound of his name, savoring it, "I really don't wanna brag."

"Come on," Yuuri laughed too, "are you sure you're good?" He gave Victor a little crooked smile, teasing him playfully. It almost blew a hole through Victor's heart. It wasn't fair - he couldn't be cute, shy, adorable, and all of those other cute things, and still be able to tease like that. He caved. Of course he fucking caved.

"Let's just say I won Worlds by breaking my own world record. Again."

" _Damn_!"

"Your words, not mine," Victor raised his hands in mock defense and Yuuri chuckled.

"So, how do you like the city so far?" Yuuri asked after a brief moment of silence.

"Well, I just got here so I haven't had much time to go out," Victor said, feeling a bit guilty. He tried to make himself feel better by thinking that it wasn’t _technically_ a lie. "I mostly hung around at home. I also don't know anyone to go out with so..." Victor shrugged.

"You know me!" Yuuri smiled kindly, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling. "Listen, I have to get going, but my roommate and I are throwing a party this week. I'd love it if you came."

"I'd like that, yeah," Victor's smile mirrored Yuuri's.

"It's just a college party, don't get too enthusiastic about it," Yuuri laughed. "But I think it could be fun. Phichit's friends are mostly skaters too, you'll fit right in."

"Oh, yes, I think so," Victor bitterly agreed. He really couldn't get a break from his job, could he? It was following him. He could go to the other side of the world and he would end up getting involved with someone that somehow is connected to skating. _Just my damned luck._

Yuuri fumbled in his bag for a second before grabbing a pen. Victor was confused as to what he was doing until Yuuri handed him a napkin with his phone number written on it. The poor man was a shade away from scarlet; it was so endearing, Victor almost wanted to hug him (Well, he actually wanted to put Yuuri in a tiny little box and protect him from all harm, but still).

"H-here, text me when you can and I'll-uh, I'll give you the address and all," he stuttered. His shyness was just another huge difference between Yuuri and Eros.

"I sure will, Yuuri."

"It was nice to meet you, Victor, thanks for the coffee!"

"It was nice to meet you too, Yuuri." Victor smiled as Yuuri walked away, waving awkwardly.

Victor's smile took a long time to leave his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean this update is late is this NOT wednesday?!  
> I'm so sorry about the late update my dudes, but I've had two tests this past week and they kicked my butt. Someone please save me from Pragmatics class. I need help.  
> Anyway, I'll try my best to post the next chapter by Wednesday, but I have another test this week so it might be a day or two late ):  
> As usual, thanks for my dearest beta @cresstic! <3  
> I always ramble about when I'm updating on twitter @moimiles ;)


	5. I beg for attention in small doses

Victor spent the next few days doing, well, nothing. The harsh time zone change hit him hard - he wasn't eighteen anymore, so his body took longer to adapt. He felt hungry at the wrong times, took too long to fall asleep and could only rest at the weirdest hours. He didn't want to admit it, but he was kind of enjoying himself. At least as much as he could when his body was so  _ confused. _

He had always had such a harsh training schedule. Victor was always up early, training all day, eating planned meals for his body, so it felt nice to just let himself go for a bit. 

Of course, it was frustrating, but nice at the same time. The lack of obligations and the freedom he felt from being alone was energizing.

He didn't isolate himself, though. Victor went out on jogs with Makkachin in the park, which led to many conversations with other dog owners; he didn't know why, but people just seemed to fall in love with his dog at first sight (He'd never admit it, but he was a tiny bit bitter that they fell for Makka instead of him). He also texted Chris a lot - the other skater started most of their conversations, but they were always surprisingly pleasant. Chris wanted to know everything about Eros and Victor spared him no details. However, Victor couldn't tell Chris about Yuuri.

Maybe it was too soon. They’d had coffee one time and he looked like a stripper, not exactly the qualities of someone he'd introduce to his friends. And of course there was something in him that wanted to keep that private, completely to himself. Some days it felt like the whole universe knew about Eros, but Yuuri was his dirty little secret.

He also texted Yuri. Not the college student, sweet, innocent Yuuri, no. Yuri, the talented brat from Russia. He was bugging Victor to create a routine to his senior debut, and Victor entertained him. One, because he had already forgotten about his promise to help the teen; he had a tendency to be quite forgetful sometimes. And two, because the moment he stopped replying and distracting Yuri from the fact that he wasn't in Russia, he knew damn well he'd fly out just to get what he wanted.

After a couple of days of being completely exhausted, Victor decided to fix his sleeping schedule and finally adapt to the time zone. Even though he felt like he had just managed to fall asleep, he got up early, got dressed, and went out jogging. The sun was up and shining, the streets buzzing with the morning rush. He took an even longer route than usual, running all the way to the park and then throughout the park; Victor thought that if he pushed himself a little harder than usual, he'd just crash and fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, something he had been craving for a good while now. 

He didn't go back to the apartment after his jog, he needed to go grocery shopping. If he kept eating take-out for his entire stay he'd gain weight. Yakov would  _ kill him _ if his form was anything other than perfect when he got back. The problem was... Victor couldn't cook, not for the life of him, so it was hard to figure out what to buy. He knew what he needed; carbs, protein, and calcium. Now, figuring out which foods he could find those things in, well, that was a whole other problem.

Of course, he failed when he tried to make lunch when he got home. He thought he'd make a meal, but ended up eating a sandwich after having troubles with the oven. He wasn't too keen on dying a fiery, painful death this early in life.

Finally, Victor went skating.

The skating rink was mostly empty. It was just a little before one PM, so he assumed most normal people (people who can cook, he thought bitterly) were having lunch. It was a bit of a relief. It'd be nice to have the ice just to himself, for his enjoyment. The smell of the ice hit him, his lips involuntarily forming a smile. He took his sweet time stretching and warming up before finally getting on ice. It hadn't even been a week since he last got on ice, but he’d missed skating. He wasn't doing anything, just letting his muscle memory guide him while his thoughts drifted away, but just the feeling of being on ice was wonderful.

His mind led him to where he always ended up - Eros. He couldn't shake the image of the stripper's choreography of “Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend” out of his head. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost hear the song playing and even the musky scent from the strip club in the icy air. It was driving him  _ crazy _ . How was it that despite knowing he couldn't have Eros, he just wanted him  _ more _ ?

Victor felt himself moving in an unfamiliar rhythm to his body, and yet he somehow recognized it: it was ridiculously inspired by a stripping routine.  _ Eros _ ’ stripping routine. He started imagining which quads he could fit into the rhythm of Marilyn's iconic song, and Victor allowed himself to jump, to dance, to skate to an Eros inspired routine. He was in the middle of a quad Lutz - time slowing as he felt the world shifting and turning before his eyes - when a voice interrupted him.

"Victor?"

He lost momentum, slipping on his landing, and the next thing he felt was the ice hitting him, or rather, him hitting the ice. He turned his head to see Yuuri at the edge of the rink. Victor felt a blush creep up his neck - he was skating inspired by Eros: he must have looked sinfully dirty and Yuuri was just standing there in awe.

"Yuuri?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, you just-you startled me," Victor replied, getting to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri  _ giggled _ .

“Well, you got back at me for scaring you that time,” Victor smiled at Yuuri, skating closer to where the young man stood.

“I am sorry though.”

"No, it's fine, I'm kinda used to falling," Victor denied as his back ached. "And it's my fault, I was distracted and didn't see you come in."

"Hey, Victor, uh, you-uh, never texted me. About the party, I mean," Yuuri's voice dropped and his cheeks were suddenly pink.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. I've been having a really hard time with the time difference and all," Victor shot Yuuri an easy-going smile, hopefully reassuring him. Victor had actually forgotten about texting Yuuri - he probably still had the napkin with his number crumpled in the pocket of his jeans somewhere, knowing himself, he had to take a different course of action.

"That's okay, I didn't mean to-"

"I have an idea," Victor interrupted him. He grabbed him phone from his pocket and opened his phone ID, shoving it in poor Yuuri's face. "That's my phone number. I have a terrible tendency to be easily distracted," he grinned sheepishly. "I forget things a lot."

"That's fine," Yuuri replied. He took his phone out of his coat pocket and, Victor assumed, added Victor's number to his phone.

"Yuuri," Victor called the younger man's attention back to himself. "I thought you didn't skate, what are you doing here?"

"I don't, really," he grinned. "I was supposed to meet my roommate here for lunch, but I am pretty late."

"Right, the skater roommate."

"Yup. You were really good back there, though. Your moves were very beautiful," Yuuri's voice softened, but there was sincerity burning through his words.

"Thanks, I've been inspired lately," Victor winked before he could stop himself.

_ 'He is not Eros, Victor Nikiforov, drop it. Stop flirting with the stripper's doppelganger. That's not fair to Yuuri or the stripper.’ _

Thanks to Yuuri's reaction, it was easy to forget about Eros altogether.

"I-uh," he cleared his throat, "Phichi-t? I'll-, eh, text?" And Yuuri was out of the rink so fast Victor could almost see the dust lifting comically behind him. Victor watched the scene wide-eyed, not believing something so cartoony had happened to him. Of course, as soon as Victor realized that it was a dead giveaway that Yuuri liked him, he squealed like a school-girl.

This was what he needed. Someone like Yuuri - a someone who liked him.

It wasn't like Victor didn't have people who liked him, but it was difficult for him to meet people who liked him because of him, not because of his skating. He was known as the charming playboy, the pride of Mother Russia, the medalist and the champion. He couldn't think of someone who liked him because of his love for dogs and food, because of how he couldn't cook but washed the dishes like a pro, or because he was a total photography dork. It hurt sometimes, but it was just one of the things that he smiled through.

So Yuuri was a blessing.

And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about Eros. 

Maybe it was the thrill of the chase. The mystery of someone he couldn't have or touch, only watch. Well, not mystery exactly, but  _ excitement _ . There was something else he wasn't used to: not having what he wanted when he wanted it. Perhaps that was what he craved from his crush on Eros. The problem was that Victor knew that the only way he could untie the Eros shaped knot on his chest was by, to put it very indelicately, banging him. And if he couldn't get the stripper to go out for dinner with him, he was never,  _ ever _ , going to sleep with him.

And that just made him want Eros more.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, distracting him from the urge to drop everything and visit a certain strip club a few minutes away.

From (unkown):

_ Hi Victor, it's Yuuri! I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly, Phichit arrived and I had to leave.  _ _ ಥ _ _ ⌣ _ _ ಥ _

Victor smiled at his phone and the ridiculously sad lie Yuuri attempted. He texted back as he exited the rink.

To Yuuri:

_ no problem _

From Yuuri:

_ So, about the party, it's this Saturday, around 9pm. I'll share our apartment's location with you!! (◠ _ _ ‿ _ _ ◠) _

To Yuuri:

_ thanks yuuri _

The couple of days before Yuuri's party were, well, chaotic.

Victor was torn. He logically knew that he should go to the party, should go out and have a good time like Chris had begged him to do countless times before, but a part of him still argued that he should go to the strip club. In his defense, Victor knew that if Eros wasn't at the club on the one night he  _ knew _ Yuuri couldn’t be there he'd have confirmation they were the same person. He'd just have to swing by later for Yuuri's party, sweep him off his feet and wait for the day he'd tell Victor he was a stripper, piece of cake.

The other part of him, the not completely stupid part, argued that there were many, many other variables in Victor's plan. Eros might just have Saturdays off; that didn't prove anything. Coincidences were not impossible. He knew that he might have to stay late at the strip club and risk missing Yuuri's party altogether, and he knew it was  _ extremely _ rude not to go to Yuuri's party just to see a stripper. Actually, it was rude not to go to the party, period.

And yet whenever he had a spare second of calm, his brain started the debate again  _ (What if I go to the party, see Yuuri, and then go to the club and wait for Eros?) _ He couldn't catch a break, and it took a toll on him. It was hard enough not to drop everything at night and go get wasted at Eros' strip club; it was one of his strongest arguments. "I've been doing so well. Why can't I have one nice thing?" The answer to that would always be extremely sarcastic but completely truthful nonetheless:  _ “Managing” not going to a strip club is not a synonym for “doing well” for most people, Nikiforov. You're not Christophe. _

_ Maybe _ Victor pushed his limits when exercising just a tad over the usual those days in hopes that he could fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, too tired to dream. And yet, no such luck; Eros was still the main attraction of Victor's subconscious, and now his thoughts were filled with Yuuri too.

"Maybe I shouldn't drink tonight," Victor told his reflection in the mirror after he’d showered. He wasn't a lightweight per say (he thought he could handle his liquor quite well, thank you very much), but his alcohol tolerance was nothing to be proud of. He didn't puke - of course not, he wasn't fifteen anymore - but his hangovers were infernal and Victor was very much aware of how, uh,  _ talkative _ he got when he was drunk.

The thought of him blabbering about Eros to Yuuri while drunk was  _ terrifying _ .

Victor distracted himself from those thoughts by getting ready. It was funny how tonight, when he was actually going to meet up with someone who (most likely) was interested in him, he felt... different. It wasn't as if he was getting ready for a date, sure, but he still didn't feel anxious or worried. He was still overthinking his outfit, but he'd overthink his outfit to go to the grocery store - being well dressed was a part of his personality by now. He didn't worry about flowers or chocolates because it was a party; he bought a six pack on his way out that he knew would be a hit.

Yuuri's apartment wasn't too far from campus, though it wasn't exactly walking distance. By the time Victor got there, he could tell the party had already started - the buzzing of too many voices talking all at once plus the music pouring out from the first floor window were pretty obvious clues. Victor walked into the building feeling just a little nervous.

There was a reason he was late.

He had to admit that he didn't like the idea of going to a party where he only knew one person. A person he actually  _ barely _ knew. He could leave anytime he wanted, of course, but Victor still felt uncomfortable with the idea of being alone in the middle of a party. Yuuri wouldn't be able to stay with him the whole time, of course not, so he was bound to be alone at some point, until he found someone to talk to - if he could at all. 

" _ Not off to a great start _ ," Victor thought bitterly. He had just arrived and yet he felt ready to leave. 

"Victor!" Victor picked out Yuuri's voice above the noise. He felt a smile forming on his lips.

"Hi."

"You came," the young man smiled, his cheeks a pinkish red tint.

"Yeah! I said I would. I brought some beer, where can I put it?"

"Oh, yeah, over here, I think we have room in the fridge," Yuuri grabbed Victor by the sleeve of his shirt to guide him through the apartment. Victor had to bite down on his lip to physically keep himself from smiling like an idiot. They walked into the kitchen together, and Yuuri thanked him for the beer as he put it away.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Yuuri offered.

"Well, one of the beers would be great actually."

"There you go," Yuuri handed him a can and their fingers brushed for a millisecond - a fraction of time that made Victor's stomach feel... Weird. Turny. He didn't know how to name the feeling exactly, but it wasn't bad. Actually, it wasn't bad at all. The only bad thing was the silence between them as Victor opened his beer and took his first sip.

"So, are you preparing for an event?" Yuuri asked, breaking the silence between them.

Skating saving his ass again.

"Not really, no," Victor answered. "I'm actually just practicing. My coach would kill me if I came back to Russia all rusty," he laughed, taking another sip of his beer before carrying on. "And honestly, I love it."

"Skating?" Yuuri inquired.

"Yes. Sometimes it's fun to just skate with no scores and choreography in mind."

"I get that," he nodded with a smile. "College can be fun when I'm not worried about deadlines and midterms."

"How is college, Yuuri?"

Their minute of silence was completely forgotten. Yuuri was more than easy to talk to - yes, he did get embarrassed easily, but there were a few moments that showed his other side, the teasing, kind-of confident one. It kept Victor on his toes, waiting to see and find out more, hanging onto every word he said, even if it was something about an Econ class Victor could never  _ hope _ to understand even if he wanted too.

After Victor finished his first beer, conversation came a little easier. Yuuri said something about introducing him to his roommate, Phichit, and lead Victor out of the kitchen - pausing for Victor to get another beer, of course. It was quite easy to follow Yuuri into the living room with the grip Yuuri had on his wrist. It made goosebumps run up his arms and all the way to his damned neck.

They were halfway through the living room, moving slowly because they had to squeeze past people dancing, when Yuuri said he could see Phichit. Victor dared to think  _ it can’t get worse than this _ as he tried to squeeze between two people.

“Phichit, hey!”

“Yuuri!” Phichit turned to smile at them. He had his phone in one hand a cup of what Victor hoped was water. If it was pure Vodka he’d be  _ terrified _ of Phichit within seconds of meeting him.

“This is Victor, Victor this is-”

“Let’s play Truth or dare!” Phichit chimed before Yuuri could finish his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [barges in with late update] I TRIED  
> A huge thanks to Natalie @cresstic for being an amazing beta who's willing to put up with my computer being an a-hole when we're trying to do beta stuff. Thanks dude <3   
> I can't promise I'll be able to update by Wednesday next week, but I am trying to! I don't have any more tests for a while, but I have a HUGE list of things to read and papers to write so rip   
> As usual, I'm always on twitter @moimiles and on tumblr @katsuyuri, come say hi!


	6. You always keep me on my toes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should play truth or dare with us!” Phichit blurted, clearly not just tipsy. Victor turned his eyes to Yuuri, praying he could get out of the silly party game he was way too old for. "Someone get us a bottle!"

“Phichit, are you drunk already?” Yuuri asked quietly, as if he didn’t want Victor to hear their conversation.

“I’m not  _ drunk _ , Yuuri. I’m  _ happy _ ! Tipsy happy.” Phichit winked.

“I was trying to introduce you to Victor.”

“Oh!” Phichit finally turned his attention to Victor, a smile blooming on his lips. “Hi, Victor, it’s so nice to meet you! I’m a big fan.” Victor thought he saw a faint blush climb Phichit’s cheeks.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He nodded politely.

“You should play truth or dare with us!” Phichit blurted,  _ clearly _ not just tipsy. Victor turned his eyes to Yuuri, praying he could get out of the silly party game he was way too old for. "Someone get us a bottle!"

"It could be fun," Yuuri offered, smiling innocently. Victor sighed, trying not to let on to how much he  _ didn't _ want to play the stupid game. He didn't have much experience with party games, but he was pretty sure that they always ended with embarrassing situations.

"Yeah, sure." Victor nodded with a smile. A fake one, but he was at least trying. Christophe would be so  _ incredibly _ proud of him for being at a college party playing truth or dare - that was a sure indication that it wasn't the best of ideas. Anything that made Chris proud was either illegal or incredibly  _ stupid _ .

Victor followed Yuuri as they sat down in a circle in the middle of the living room. He was sulking a bit, yes; he didn't want to play  _ "Who do you like x Make out with someone" _ with a bunch of people he didn't even know. And then it finally hit Victor. He could ask Yuuri exactly what he had been dying to know. He couldn't lie, it was called Truth or Dare for a reason; sometimes telling the truth was worse than a dare. Victor smiled to himself as he developed his diabolical plan.

The only problem was Phichit’s rules: the skater had said that the players were defined by both ends of the bottle. He was sitting right next to Yuuri in a growing circle of people - which means that it was physically impossible for the bottle to stop between them. He thought about getting up and sitting elsewhere, but that would be way too awkward. Maybe once he finished his beer... That was a solid plan; he could get up, get another bottle of beer, and then sit somewhere he could interact with Yuuri.

"Do you know all of these people?" Victor asked quietly as Phichit spinned the bottle in the middle of the circle.

"Nope." Yuuri gave a shy smile. "A few of them are friends from school, but most of them are Phichit's friends."

"Okay, good." He laughed. "I was afraid I was going to be the only one not playing the game right."

"Don't worry." Yuuri smiled reassuringly. "Honestly, I don’t want to play, but Phichit wouldn't let anyone get out of it. He's  _ way _ too enthusiastic about party games."

"I can see that," Victor said, looking at Phichit who giggled as the bottle spinned.

"Now that I think about it, he's like that about everything," Yuuri added. "You need to ask him about his hamsters, you haven’t seen true enthusiasm until then."

"Hamsters?" Victor laughed.

" _ Pet _ hamsters. You wouldn't think that hamsters would have exciting stories, but Phichit makes it possible." Yuuri grinned.

Victor was about to reply with some stories about Makkachin (some  _ real _ exciting stories this time), but he was interrupted by a bottle pointing right at him. The other end was pointed at Phichit. Victor sighed, hoping to get it over with quick.

"Victor, truth or dare?"

"Uh, dare?"

"I dare you to make out wi-"

"Truth! I choose truth," Victor changed his mind before Phichit could finish his sentence. He was  _ not _ about to go kissing people he barely knew at a college party.

"Well..."

The split second in which Phichit was thinking of what to ask swamped Victor with anxiety. He could ask anything, Victor had given him that power. A rush of adrenaline flew through him. Having to answer a personal question in front of a bunch of people he didn't know and a person he had a small crush on? Devastating.

_ Victor, you're 27, get over yourself. _

"Is it true you can land a quad Axel?" Phichit asked, excitement pouring into his words. Victor let out a huge sigh when he noticed at least half of the people in their circle turned their eyes to him, curiosity sparkling. 

So much for an exciting Truth or Dare question. 

"Uh, yeah, in practice," he confirmed, feeling a bit disappointed.

"That's so cool!" the group blurted. "Damn!" They turned to one another, gushing among themselves.

"Is... is that impressive?" Yuuri whispered at his side.

"Not really, I can't land it even more than half the time, but don't ruin your friends' excitement." Victor winked.

"Your secret is safe with me," Yuuri teased right back and Victor felt as if his heart had  _ stumbled _ inside his chest. 

As it turned out, Truth or Dare with Yuuri's friends was, well, boring. They didn't care that he only asked for Truth because they were able to ask him everything they’d ever wanted to know about his career. It kinda sucked - Victor was excited to run away from that part of his life for a bit, to just be a normal dude at a college party, answering embarrassing questions or having to perform embarrassing dares. And yet, the heavy crown of being a world-class skater was back on his head, and he couldn't shake it off.

They wanted to know everything from his inspiration for his latest program to what kind of exercise routine he had. They asked questions about Yakov and Yuri, and about life as a fully realized skater. Victor felt that even though he was drinking beer constantly, the questions were sobering him up. He was on a whole other continent, miles and miles away from home, and he still couldn't run away from his work.

He almost felt tempted to tell them all about Eros out of spite. ' _ See! Your perfect top skater is lusting after a male stripper, how do you feel about that? _ ' ' _ My next program is heavily inspired by strip-teasing and has elements of burlesque performances by a certain male stripper. _ ' Victor felt the words forming on his tongue, but he ended up holding back because of Yuuri. If he was Eros, this wasn't the way to bring it up.

Truth or dare had turned into a very ‘Victor Nikiforov’ centered Q&A.

He was hoping to get some information on Yuuri but every time the bottle stopped even remotely close to Victor, it was  _ obviously _ his turn. Yuuri didn't get to play once, making Victor feel even worse. Overall, the game was a disaster he was hoping to get out of soon. However, there was nothing in the rules about when the game ended, and he felt too uncomfortable to just get up and leave.

"Hey, Victor, let's get you another beer," Yuuri said a bit too loudly after a few more rounds. He got up and offered Victor a hand to help him do the same. Victor couldn't help but beam at Yuuri. He wasn't sure if he had noticed that Victor didn't feel comfortable, or if he really just wanted to get the man more beer, but either way, he saved Victor from the game. Just for that, regardless of the reason behind it, Victor could kiss him silly.

Maybe he should ease up on the beer.

"Do you want one?" Victor offered. "Actually, sorry, do you drink? I noticed you hadn't so far."

"Yeah, I do, I just tend to stay away from getting drunk. And yeah, I'd like one, thanks."

"Why? If you don't mind me asking," Victor handed Yuuri a beer and their fingers touched for just a second, but it was more than enough to make Victor feel warmth spreading all over him, blooming in his chest and pooling in his stomach.

' _ Good _ ,' he thought, ' _ maybe it will drown all the fucking butterflies.' _

"It's nothing serious!" Yuuri blushed, pink dusting the top of his cheeks. "I-Phichit has an annoying habit of taking pictures or filming me in my worst moments."

"Really?"

"He sometimes posts them," Yuuri hid behind his free hand and Victor was  _ probably _ drunk, but it was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his whole life. He stifled a squeal in his throat. "Before you think it's anything too bad, I fell asleep in the tub once and he won't let me live it down."

"Classic," Victor chuckled.

"Classic? My neck was sore for days."

"Was it worse than the hangover?"

"Absolutely not," Yuuri giggled and Victor joined him, feeling refreshed after the whole party game incident. "I also like to stay sober most of the time because someone has to be the host, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, make sure we have enough drinks and food for everyone, but also make sure the apartment doesn't go down in flames."

"Right." Victor nodded. 

"I'm sorry about the game, by the way,” Yuuri sighed. “I had no idea they'd geek out like that." 

"That's fine, but I appreciate the sentiment. Sometimes it kinda sucks," Victor confessed. 

"It sucks being famous?" Yuuri teased.

"I wouldn't call it famous, but talented," Victor joked back. 

They sat back watching the party as it happened. Victor was, well, pleasantly surprised. He was expecting to be left alone at some point - Yuuri certainly wanted to spend time with his friends too, he thought - but no, Yuuri was an absolute angel. Every time they bumped into one of Yuuri's friends, not only was Victor introduced to said friend, but Yuuri also made sure he was included in the conversation. It was fun, even though he didn't know anyone but Yuuri. He managed to talk to everyone that approached them even when he didn't know anyone. He didn't know many people who were as considerate as Yuuri. 

Contrary to popular belief, Victor wasn't too big on partying. He liked to go out and dance every once in awhile, but most of the times he found himself drunk and bored, alone somewhere. The recurring feeling of people not wanting anything from him other than skating was always so strong in those moments that he avoided the party scene. 

But Yuuri made him feel good. 

At least, to put it in simple terms. He was slightly tipsy, feeling the beer warming him up along with something he didn’t want to name yet (Their proximity? Their shoulders bumping while they walked?). Even when the conversation was completely out of his comfort zone, Yuuri would find one tiny hook, never leaving Victor out even for a minute. For once, the attention of him was sincere.

Victor offered to grab them another beer. As soon as he walked away, into the kitchen, he felt a smile blooming on his lips and something told him it wouldn’t be going away for a while; it was the kind of smile that appears every couple of seconds, as if his body physically couldn't avoid feeling happy. The cold bottles against his hands felt grounding as he walked back into the living room to find Yuuri. 

Yuuri was  _ dancing _ .

Well. He was trying. It was clumsy; the awkward shifting of weight from one foot to the other. He looked a bit red from where Victor was watching, as if he was actually embarrassed. His hands were stiff next to his body and the only thing saving the whole disaster of an attempt to dance was his expression. Yuuri had his eyes closed and the cutest smile playing on his lips as he sang the lyrics of whatever pop song was playing.

And of course, Victor had to think of Eros. 

This was nothing like Eros. Yuuri was so shy, so contained in his steps, so terribly awkward in front of all these people... Well, he at least looked awkward dancing next to so many skaters - they had a flair for the dramatics when dancing, Victor knew that very well (Chris was ridiculously extra when he danced - he even had choreograph prepared for different trendy pop songs). 

Maybe Yuuri wasn't Eros after all. It had been a little while since Victor had seen Eros; the details of his face were disappearing and every time he tried to picture the stripper, Yuuri's face showed up instead. He didn't know if he should take that as a good or bad sign. They were two different people, and yet in his head he was creating the ultimate person - a mix of Eros and Yuuri, shy and bold at the same time, sexy but soft...

No, he was  _ not _ going to dwell on that. Not only it was giving himself a serious case of the hots, but it wasn't fair to Yuuri. He didn't deserve any of that after being so damn nice to Victor. 

"Hey," Victor interrupted Yuuri's dance, handing him a beer. Yuuri smiled and adjusted his glasses before speaking. 

"Thank you."

"Nice moves," he teased. 

"Yeah, sure. I'm a specialist in the washing machine, are you familiar?" 

"Washing machine?" 

"It's a personal favorite for dancing slow beat songs," Yuuri explained. "Look, you keep your body and feet still, but turn your chest from side to side. Leave the arms dangling and... There you go!" 

"Washing machine?" Victor laughed, not understanding at all what Yuuri was trying to show him. 

"Yeah! Because they do the same circling thing, you know?" Yuuri emphasized his words by twirling like before. When it finally clicked, Victor laughed so hard he almost choked.

Tipsy Yuuri was almost just as fun as sober Yuuri. He was still shy, but it was as if his self-consciousness didn't embarrass him as much. Either that, or his brain-to-mouth filter got lost somewhere after his second bottle of beer; Victor noticed that the younger man seemed more free to make jokes and join in on Victor's. He also seemed extremely aware of music now - he was constantly tapping his foot in rhythm to the beat. 

They didn't dance together though, no. They were too busy talking, their conversations so interesting and funny it felt like they had been friends for years and just catching up after a long time apart. Victor didn't feel the need to look at his phone once. Their conversations flowed so seamlessly from one subject to the other that Victor sometimes caught himself thinking 'how did we even get here?'

He thought that the first time as they suddenly were discussing whether they believed in astrology or not. The second time was when they started off debating politics from each of their countries and somehow ended up talking about aliens. The most recent one was after Victor was already too happy to be sober and he suddenly found himself talking about reality TV - he argued that Keeping Up With The Kardashians was a God send, while Yuuri was defending RuPaul's Drag Race. 

They dragged themselves to a couch when the party started to die down. It was late, almost three in the morning, and Victor was too used to waking up early to be lively. Granted, he was half drunk, and that did nothing to stop his drowsiness, but talking to Yuuri was too interesting to leave just yet. He had no way of knowing when he would see Yuuri again-

Wait. 

He could invite Yuuri out. They had been talking all night, Yuuri had stayed with him through that  _ disaster _ of Truth or Dare, and now they were sitting  _ right next to each other _ on a couch that had enough room for them to be spread out; he concluded Yuuri would say yes, all the signs were there. 

Just to be really sure, Victor stretched his arms over Yuuri, as if he was just yawning the sleep away, and when Yuuri didn't say anything, Victor let his arm drape over his shoulders. He saw the faint blush on Yuuri's cheeks, but he wasn't sure if the was from the alcohol or Victor’s hug. The skater was sure he was blushing a bit too, he had just successfully pulled out the move and it was  _ so ridiculous _ but it felt so good at the same time. 

Victor noticed he had been rambling for a while when Yuuri laid his head against his shoulder. He thought Yuuri had fallen asleep, but as soon as Victor stopped talking, he encouraged the skater to carry on. 

And, well, it was hard. 

It was hard because Victor was not used to this feeling inside his chest, like a hot ball of euphoria melting his heart, clogging his lungs, and filling him with warmth from top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He noticed his own voice was a lot deeper as he carried on - they were talking about movies now - and he couldn't care less about the words pouring from his mouth. He might as well be sounding like a stroke victim, he was too carried away by the feeling of Yuuri's head on his shoulder. 

There were so many options inside his head, he didn't know what to do but keep rambling about stupid movies. He wanted to kiss Yuuri, but he also wanted to put his head on top of his and let the world fade away. A part of him wanted to get up and leave; go back to Russia before his feelings grew anymore dangerous and he couldn't sleep at night, but Victor knew that a huge part of him would wither and die if he did that. 

Before he could truly consider anything, his heart took over.

"Yuuri, will you go out with me? On a date, I mean. I can make us dinner." His voice sounded far away from the pulsing of his heart. 

"Sounds good," Yuuri's voice was calm and low in his ear.

Victor was certain he could vibrate his way off the couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Important announcement: I've changed the updates to Saturday because of school, I was sure I was going to be late posting Wednesdays. YES today is Wednesday, but I am like, a week late, soooorry about that! I got sick last week and I'm still recovering. Anyway, next Saturday there should be an update to this fic.   
> Thanks so much for all the comments, I'm trying to reply to every one but college is kicking my butt and I haven't got around to do so, but I WILL <3   
> As usual, thanks to my beta @cresstic and I'm always on twitter @moimiles


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